caput mortuum

Hi this is Sherlock and today I learned that there used to be a colour of paint that was made from ground up Egyptian mummies, it was called caput mortuum or mummy brown or some other things but those two make the most sense. We had a man come to our school today to talk to us about painting and they might do an extra class sometimes that people could sign up for and I think I'd like that but we didn't get to do any today because Mrs N said they didn't have all the things and it was too messy but I think I would take the class if they do it.

The painter's name was Mr Berns with an E, not like fire, and he also restores paintings for a museum but I don't remember which one, and he said there are paints no one uses anymore because they are poisonous or no one can get the things to make them now, and we said like what, and he told us a lot, but mummy brown was the best and when I got home I looked at it on the internet and I found a thing that gives a FAKE MUMMY RECIPE for if you couldn't get real mummies.

Take the carcase of a young man (some say red hair’d) not dying of a Disease but killed; let it lie 24 hours in clear water in the Air: cut the flesh in pieces, to which add Powder of Myrrh and a little Aloes, imbibe it 24 hours in the Spirit of Wine and Turpentine...

I don't see why he should have red hair though or even be young. And also this which is about what the mummies looked like before they were made into a colour.

“They gave noisome smell at all, like pitch, beinge broken; for I broke of all parts of the bodies to see howe the flesh was turned to drugge, and brought home divers heads, hands, arms, and feete for a shewe.”

And John said it sounded a bit disrespectful making dead people into paint but I don't think it's worse than putting them in museums and I think that if I could be a paint when I die that would be all right although only if I got used by a really good painter.  

stop that

Mycroft's back to school with bat biscuits of various flavours. Sherlock was excited enough about the app he and Mycroft put on L's phone to not be too sad about it. He actually told Mycroft he'd miss him, which was...astonishing. Usually it's 'I hate you and your stupid school!' which means the same thing of course, but I've never heard him actually say it.

So far L's app has told him to 'stop that', 'ask Sally to do it', 'kiss John' (I approve), and 'stop shouting at the television', among others. It has eerily good timing. When it told him to stop shouting at the television, he'd just told off Brian Cox for having silly hair. Not really shouting, but still...pretty good for a presumably non-sentient app.

And here's this:

The road from Muonio to Kilpisjarvi in Finnish Lapland is known locally as the "Northern Lights Route".

If you click on the picture, it should take you to the photographer's flickr page. There are a lot of other really beautiful photos there. I'd like to drive that road someday. 

contents under pressure

Lestrade's off work today, Mycroft's coming home...and Sherlock still had to go to school. He felt, obviously, that this was monstrously unfair. He flung himself on the floor and refused to get dressed, relented only when told that if he was going to be that way he wouldn't be allowed to go along to fetch Mycroft, and got dressed as slowly as was humanly possible. I wouldn't actually have believed it was humanly possible for Sherlock until I saw it. He was like a film played at half speed. With zombie noises dubbed over the dialogue.

He made zombie noises at his toast as well. And all the way to school. I walked with him, and Lestrade stayed home to do nothing around the flat, because he ought to have a chance to do that once in a while. On the walk he gradually sped up until the zombie noises became more akin to growls and I was suddenly walking a small, bouncy wolverine to school.

School, by the way, is a wonderful invention, and all teachers deserve medals for bravery. And a pay rise.

I explained to Mrs N what she might be dealing with, apologised, and left her to herd everyone into the art room. Hopefully that'll calm him down a bit. It usually does. Maybe he'll draw something for Mycroft.

And now L and I have until afternoon to do absolutely anything we like. 

off the map

Disused tube stations:

There's not all that much information about them at the site (it seems mostly to be an art project), but still interesting. Here's some more on St Mary's, with pictures. 

And a tour of the station:

I find it fascinating, the things that people build and then forget about, brick up, or pave over, like repressed memories in London's brain.

snow and pinstripes

It snowed. I believe Sherlock may have mentioned it once or twice. It's very pretty, or at least the parts that haven't been turned into grey sludge by the traffic are very pretty. 

Sherlock has done his best to spend every waking moment outside and actually chose to walk to school today rather than have us take him on the bikes so he could be out in it longer. Amazing.

L and I dropped him off, had a run that ended with cold fingers, dripping noses, and a desperate desire for coffee. We went home rather than inflict our sweaty selves on some unsuspecting coffee shop. There were showers, coffee, toast, etc., and he talked to me about accent colours for the wedding, which seemed premature, since we don't know where we're having it, exactly when we're having it, or in fact any about it except that it will occur at some point in the future. But since we can't decide about any of those things, perhaps accent colours are a good place to start? He was talking about lithianthus purple (I had to look it up too), which is...extremely purple. But you can't get married in a beige jumper, and it is a nice colour.

Harry texted to say it should be a bee-themed wedding. I'm not even sure how that would work, but Sherlock would probably love it.

After lunch, we went to look at suits, which was like entering some sort of time warp composed of fabric, polished floors, and terrifying neckwear. We only went to two places, and then suddenly we were almost late to pick up Sherlock. I'll let L tell you about the shopping. The only thing I definitely decided was that I don't want to wear pink pinstripes, ever, for any reason, and I don't know how anyone could wear them without looking like a super-villain.

twist and shout

The video I wanted to show you of sea worms eating a dead seal won't embed, so here is a fish with a see through head:


 

It snowed a fair amount. Mrs N looked like she was more than ready for the day to be over when I picked up Sherlock. Two of Sherlock's classmates told me about all the things they'd done in the snow because their parents weren't there yet, and apparently they couldn't wait to tell someone. 

Sherlock and I went directly to the park and stayed there. I thought at some point he'd admit he was cold, or want hot chocolate, or...something, but I underestimated his ability to ignore everything but SNOW. We had a snowball fight, and made a small, lopsided snowman, built a very very small snow fort that Sherlock could just about fit into if he curled up tight and ducked his head down. L joined us when he got out of work with a surprise snow attack on Sherlock, stuffed some down my jacket, whereupon I was forced to rub snow in his hair...

And then pizza. After I finally convinced them both we had to go inside at some point. You should've seen their sad sad little faces...

L also explained his dancing plan for the wedding. Not sure I should tell you all what it is yet...might wait until I'm sure I can actually do it... 

marriage of true brains

Interesting photos from a professor of neuroscience, Eran Gilat.
Found while googling ice brains with Sherlock.

We had lunch with Jo and Lisa today. They seem to have every detail of their wedding firmly under control. Lisa said she started thinking about it two years ago. Lestrade and I are planning to get married this spring or summer, and we haven't even started. The more I think about it, the more it starts turning into a mental game of 'who can I afford to offend by not inviting them?'

Well...that's overstating it. Obviously, I don't want to offend anyone, and it's possible my parents may not even want to come. It's a long trip for them, and they're getting older. But once you get outside immediate family, any hypothetical guest list seems to grow exponentially until you're inviting your cousin's dentist, and there's tulle draped over everything, and ice sculptures of zombies eating ice brains.

I told Harry I thought twenty people would be more than enough, and she laughed at me until I was forced to hang up on her. But Harry's wedding was enormous, and she probably would've invited our cousin's dentist, if we had cousins. She might be right to laugh though. When I count up the people I consider immediate family these days, there's already 11 of them, and that's not counting me and Lestrade.

Texts, after I hung up on her.

Harry: you should run away and get married in vegas
Harry: by elvis
Harry: wearing elvis costumes
Harry: WHILE SKYDIVING

permanent

In her continuing efforts to brighten my life and/or make her brother cringe, Nicky sent me this:

the perm...

I imagine the very serious face is due to him imagining Nicky using it against him in the future. Smart boy.

In other news, I've been looking into the FME training course. The next one in London isn't for quite a while yet. The ones coming up are all far enough away that I'd have to stay there for the week. Not sure how Mrs H would feel about me being away from the boys for that long...or for that matter how L and Mrs Hudson would feel about it, since they'd be the ones making up for my absence. The course summary looks interesting though. 

walk down the street, there's no one there

Stealing L's lyrics-as-subject line thing for this. Though since I started writing this last night after L was asleep, and then fell asleep in the middle of it...I can no longer remember why I thought the lyrics were relevant. Anyhow, here's some cheese we got that Sherlock wanted me to take a picture of because it came wrapped in leaves.

I've been thinking about time recently. One of the things I realised while talking to Dr E a few weeks ago is that I do more now than I did in the Army. Which seems impossible. I remember days when I barely got to eat, didn't sit down for more than five minutes, riding so high on adrenaline that I could barely sleep even when I got a chance. But those are the sorts of days that stick in the mind, aren't they? I know perfectly well there were also days when we sat in the on call room and played cards, or read, or drew on the walls (they were unfinished plywood; it was practically an invitation). 

Now, the things that I do are constant. Pack Sherlock's lunch, walk him to school, do the shopping, go for a run (...usually), do the cleaning, the laundry...and then, astonishingly, it's usually time to pick him up again. I don't know how just those few things can take up so much time, and there are days when I feel I must've lost several hours into a rogue, travelling time warp. 

I thought I'd have a conclusion for this when I started writing it, but I don't. Just vague confusion and the continuing sense that I ought to be doing more. Perhaps with more of a sense that it might actually be possible. 

Anyway, go and read this man's blog post instead. He knows how to write a conclusion, and it's a good cause. 

super powers

Someone asked in the comments of L's blog what his preferred super power would be. Pretty sure mine would be sleep. Just...sleeping through the night, no nightmares, no waking up and wandering around and worrying. The ability to nap instantly anywhere would be great too. I used to be able to do that. Doesn't seem to work very well anymore. 

delicious camels

Puff pastry camels

L and the boys made these today. Mycroft got some to take back to school and Sherlock posed a lot of them in a line inside one of the cupboards, so that when I went to get a mug there were camels staring at me. L insists it's an Italian tradition. I think he just wanted an excuse to use his camel pastry cutter. Or a justification for owning it. Or a reason for its existence. Or possibly just  to tease me about camel rustling again. Were I going to rustle camels, I would start with these. 

They're very good. You just cut them out and sprinkle on sugar before you bake them as far as I could tell, and you could make them in any shape, if you're the sort of person who has pastry cutters, or just into squares in you're not. 

After such a long time having him home, it seems very strange to have Mycroft gone again. I know we've said it before. Quiet. Empty flat. Just doesn't stop being true. We miss him a lot. 

...And he must've been reading the comments on L's post because he just texted me to say 'I'm not DEAD, you know.' Heh. We know! And we want you to do what you want to do, and have fun doing it. Just never doubt we'll be happy to see you when you come home. 

victory, of a sort

Sodium acetate crystals.




But I suppose everyone's more interested in an explanation of the picture of me that L posted...

L was closest with his guess about it being in Egypt. I'd gone to see Laura and she was out at some event for the museum, so I was wandering around Al Azhar park. Met this guy who worked at the US Embassy, we had dinner, met up with some of his friends, played poker. Played some more poker. Played more poker than was advisable, especially after I ran out of money, which didn't take long.

I lost the watch my parents gave me when I graduated from medical school, and that was about it for things of any value I had on me. It wasn't too bad though, considering one of the other guys lost his fancy gold cuff links, and the third lost his car. I still think our host was cheating, but at least he was a good sport about it. He said he'd let us bet our clothes against what we'd lost...and gave us dresses out of his wife's wardrobe to wear so we could ante up. I suppose the entertainment value made up for the lack of monetary value. Maybe? It seemed logical at three in the morning. I won my watch back, the other guy won his car back, but the cuff links stayed with our host.

And then we watched videotapes of old American football matches while they tried to explain the rules to me...until I fell asleep. It didn't take long.

The picture is from the next morning when Laura came to fetch me. I was only slightly hungover and still triumphant about getting my watch back. I put my own clothes back on shortly thereafter, but not in time to avoid being seen the owner of the dress. Luckily for me (and her husband) she had a good sense of humour. Laughed so hard her orange juice came out her nose. 

strangers in the night

All four of us went riding today, Mycroft with me and Sherlock with Lestrade. Sherlock kept up a running monologue for nearly the whole time, punctuated by singing We Will Rock You at the top of his lungs. Even over the singing, I could hear Mycroft rolling his eyes.

Came back home and found a late Christmas card from Murray, mailed from Australia. Citizens of Australia, beware: if you see a manic looking Englishman with a terrible beard coming toward you, do not engage, or you'll spend the next three hours paying for his beer and wondering why you're doing it. He has a talent.

He says he's coming back home soon, which he'd better be, because his mum has called me five times so far to ask when that's happening. He either didn't come home after Afghanistan or didn't tell anyone and left again immediately. Neither would surprise me. 

bike day 2.0

Sherlock got most of his bike gear for Christmas...got his helmet...so we arranged a little surprise. L and Mycroft and I set off into the cold and the wet, and eventually met Sherlock and Mrs Hudson near Harrow so Sherlock could have his first ride in real traffic without it being in the middle of London.

And so I could practice with Mycroft on the back of my bike, and in poor weather, in an effort to make L feel a bit less nervous about my abilities. And also obviously because I do need the practice, but he does occasionally give me this concerned look that makes me feel as if I ought to be asking permission before I ride in the rain.

It was cold. It was wet. I may have mention that already, but the cold and wet featured prominently in our day and bear repeating. At one point I thought my fingers might never uncurl, just be frozen permanently in handle bar gripping position.

Not cold enough, of course, because it's still rain and not the S word.

late night tea

We're both unable to sleep at the same time for once. Makes a nice change, having company. Except for knowing we'll both be tired tomorrow instead of just one of us. I was asleep for a bit at least, dreaming about being in a helicopter, going over endless dry dirt, no rivers, no trees, no people or animals. Just dirt and dust and empty trucks stopped dead in the middle of dirt roads. I think I'd rather be awake.

L's doing paperwork and had half a folder spread out over my leg so when I woke up I caused a small paper avalanche. Left him to clean it up while I made tea. So now we're awake in the middle of the night with tea which is, in my opinion, better than without, and with chocolate biscuits, autopsy reports, and crime scene photos. Sherlock would love it.

Sometimes life produces moments that are so unexpectedly nice that I find them almost shocking. I'd never have thought, before I met L, that insomnia and paperwork - even someone else's - could be combine into anything better than mild irritation. But, shared with him (and tea), it turns into something different. Contentment maybe. That's a good word.

I'm still not used to it. Maybe I never will be. 

christmas photos

Happy Christmas, everyone. I hope it was a good one. It certainly was for us. I'm too tired to give a full report, but it had all the usual desired components - good food and people we care for. Lestrade outdid himself with dinner, and Mrs Holmes, Mycroft, and Sherlock created some new version of Cluedo understandable only to them. 

Here's a picture from a while ago (you can tell by the blue sky). Someone had hung one of the trees with these two little baubles. 

And here's a close up of our tree with massive sparkly snowflake. 

Jumper report: Mrs Hudson knit me a very nice jumper. It's mainly cream with red cuffs and collar, and some cabling stuff in the middle and on the sleeves. I think it's lovely, and not too Christmassy. Should be able to wear it all winter if L doesn't make off with it and bury it somewhere... 

And now, everything is cleaned up, Sherlock and Mycroft are asleep, and L is waiting for me in bed while I blog like someone who has nothing better to be doing, when clearly I do, so...good night. 

and a pear in a partridge tree

I said I'd post a picture of my bauble today, since L posted his yesterday and vividly described Sherlock's for you. It's just a little bird. I think I had a bird last year too.

Not like that. I know what you're all thinking, especially you, L.

Mycroft's are in the background. He got a bunch of tiny little pears and berries on wires that you can weave into the branches. Very tasteful. 

The persistent cold and damp hasn't been doing my shoulder any good, but today was mostly an inside day, except for walking the dogs (and Sherlock). Tea, a good book, an endless supply of baked goods from Mrs Hudson's flat, both boys relatively calm... 

Of course, there was the inevitable moment when we got back from the walk and both dogs and Sherlock tried to shake themselves dry at the same time, and Mycroft had to curl over his computer to keep it dry and the resultant you did that on purpose / you were SITTING THERE on purpose. It's convenient that sibling fights don't actually have to make sense. Otherwise you'd run out of things to argue about eventually. 

the world didn't end

We had only minor apocalypses during Sherlock's play, thankfully. He did very well, and we were very proud to watch him, especially the violin piece he played at the beginning. Lestrade also played very well, and we were proud of him as well...especially when he caught the goat.

The kings were following a star, you see, and by star I mean a spotlight with an inexplicably purple gel on it. The gel was positioned wrong, started to smoke...maybe some small flames. I went to turn it off while Mrs N dealt with panicky children. L insists the goat was coming right for me and he manfully wrestled it to the ground, and good thing too, since I was without my goat proof pants.

After a few tears and excited shrieks from the kids, things calmed down a little, and Mrs N got them back on track. They actually finished the play. I was impressed. Sherlock came up to me afterward and said, very proudly, 'None of that was my fault!'

And then there was cake. And later, mulled wine. It was very nice. Mrs H had some and measured me quite thoroughly for the jumper she's knitting. More thoroughly than I have every been measured before. And more unnecessarily too, since she took my measurements two weeks ago... She also showed us a corner of it. Seems to be mainly cream coloured with cables and some red bits. I don't think even L will be able to object! 

shipping forecast

This will be short because I should be asleep...but I startled myself awake by falling out of bed, hitting the floor...and then trying to hit the floor. It hit me first. So I'm up for a while. Cleaned up a bit more glitter.

And then I remembered a long ago blog conversation about the shipping forecast and wondered if it were on youtube. It is.

tree buying

I'd point out that my BMW is winning the poll, but that seems unkind to Lestrade, who was responsible for a very enjoyable time last night, so I won't.

The room was really impressively nice, with its odd hanging cage bed and comfortable sofa. In my limited experience, room service usually isn't very nice even when they manage to get it up to your room before it's cold. It still seemed preferable to going out, but I was not expecting anything to write home (or blog) about. It was really good though, in particular the dessert, as L said. Calvados pannacotta, blackberries, caramelized apples, and salted caramel ice cream. Wow.

It was incredibly strange not to be awakened by a flying tackle from Sherlock early the next morning, but I think we could get used to it. Slept in until eight, which is about right as far as I'm concerned and criminally late for Lestrade. Nice lunch, home, picked up Sherlock from school...and then the Christmas tree.

We went to a tree farm to cut down our own this year. Sherlock had a check list regarding height, width, colour, needle quality, etc. It took two solid hours, not counting the drive there and back. Got home, got it up and mainly straight, and L had to rush off because he was nearly late to work by then.

I tried to be restrained with the tinsel this year, partially for L and Mycroft's sakes, and partially because the enormous wreath Mrs Hudson and Sherlock did is already so extremely sparkly that any more sparkle in or around our flat might cause some sort of sparkle implosion and result in a black hole that would suck all the glitter out of the world. 

disappearing act

If you've read the comments in L's blog, you'll have seen that Mycroft and Carla gave us the slip today. Not just us, but security as well. They lost us in the crowds of manic Christmas shoppers at Harrods. They let us know they were okay after a while, and then apparently went ice skating and had hot chocolate.

I'm...torn on how to feel about it, and what to do about it. He's a teenager now. He's obviously going to want more freedom than he's had, and it's a reasonable thing to want. I don't know how much he can reasonably have. Need to talk to his mum about that. There's got to be some kind of balance between keeping him safe and letting him grow up. Probably should've done it before now, really.

Apart from that, we all had a nice day, despite the crowds. A bit of shopping (all right, more than a bit), lunch out. L spent at least an hour trying to convince me I wanted an earring after we walked by a piercing place. Nearly gave in, but I'm sure I don't need any more holes in my head than I already have.  Pretty sure.

Sherlock asked, idly, if he could get his tongue pierced. We're going to be in so much trouble when he hits fifteen or sixteen. 

bits and pieces

L's mobile had a small accident today. He brought it home for Mycroft to dissect. Mycroft let Sherlock help him, and it kept both of them occupied for quite a while after dinner, almost right up to Sherlock's bedtime. No idea what he wants with phone innards, but I'm sure he'll do something interesting with them. 

RIP

andromeda project

Hello, this is Mycroft. 

I've just been reading about the Andromeda Project, and I thought some of you might be interested. It lets you help astronomers identify star clusters in the Andromeda galaxy, as well as distant galaxies viewed through it. 

The project aims to identify star clusters in our neighboring galaxy, also known as M31. All it takes to find the clusters in Andromeda is an Internet-enabled computer and a desire to help, said Anil Seth, the team's lead investigator. "No special training is required," he said.

The Andromeda galaxy is the one nearest to our own and also the most distant object you can see in the night sky without a telescope. It was first mentioned in writing in 964 by a Persian astronomer named Abd al-Rahman al Sufi, who described it as a 'little cloud' in his Book of Fixed Stars. 

It's also on a collision course with the Milky Way, destined to arrive in roughly five billion years. Not particularly relevant to us, since our sun will most likely have cooled and expanded by then to a point where it will have swallowed up Mercury, Venus, and possibly our planet, too, so if we're not off Earth by then, Andromeda will be the least of our worries. Still interesting though. 

This is a picture of the Antennae Galaxies colliding. They intersected about 200 to 300 million years ago, and the process is still continuing today.

they cannot look out far, they cannot look in deep

We left this morning to go and visit Nicky and her family and Lestrade's mum. Left the boys at Nicky's house, went to the hospital...had a very quiet visit. Clearly quieter than L expected. Quieter than I expected, to be honest. She barely said a word.

Nice lunch with everyone afterward, and then the drive home. Sherlock entertained everyone for a while with various videos he found on youtube and then fell asleep. Mycroft told us a bit about his and Carla's plans for next weekend. He said we can fit it all in if everyone keeps to the schedule. L asked him what he thought the chances of that were. He said about 17%. I'm pretty sure there'll be ice skating though, at least.

We played Cluedo this evening, which ended as well as you might expect, with the board overturned and pieces all over the room. Sherlock insisted his character didn't do it and that we had no evidence...

And then Lestrade casually mentioned that next Sunday is...well, a sort of anniversary for us. I'm really bad at remembering dates. Even when the event in question was extremely memorable. I love him every day, sometimes so much it's almost frightening to me. Certainly more than I ever thought I was capable of. I hope that makes up for it. We've got a date for next Sunday if Mrs Hudson can look after Sherlock. Which, given her willingness to aid and abet on previous dates, seems extremely likely. I'll ask her in the morning, which is coming all too soon. 

friday

Lestrade and I dropped Sherlock off at school this morning, completely failed to run afterward, went home and had coffee until it was time to go and get Mycroft. It's always such a mess when it's time for them to go home - boys, bags, parents, and cars all over the place. The dogs generally clear some space around us, but even so, it's quite an experience. 

L got cornered by a boy a couple of years older than Mycroft who wanted to know every single thing about his bike's engine. I wouldn't have thought there was that much to say (it's a small engine!), but they were talking the entire time we were packing up luggage and dogs. Just before we left, the kid said my bike was nice too, but that he thought Triumph made a 'superior product'... 

Oh, and if you missed the comment, Anthea said she might ride with one of us next time. Nice to be preferred to two large, slobbery dogs. ;)

It's lovely to have Mycroft home again. Sherlock is, of course, once again outraged that he's still in school while Mycroft's not, but the Christmas show is distracting him. Mycroft wants to see the Churchill War Rooms, so we'll probably do that sometime in the week when Sherlock's at school. He's reading Churchill's history of the second world war right now, and I may be reading it too, soon. The parts he's shown me are interesting. 

He showed me this, too: bombsight.org, which marks where the bombs fell in London during the Blitz. When you zoom out, it looks like a solid red splotch and seems a miracle the city wasn't entirely wiped off the map.

And now, as they say, for something completely different:

"When a magnitude 6.8 earthquake shook Olympia, Wash., in 2001, shopowner Jason Ward discovered that a sand-tracing pendulum had recorded the vibrations in the image above."

going fast, slowly

Sherlock's mum picked him up from school today and took him to get cake. I gather she was regaled with every last detail regarding the Christmas show, including the colour of lights he wants on his halo. He also got her to sign a contract saying she'd be there. It covers a number of contingencies, including alien invasion, zombie apocalypse, and nuclear war. In all cases, she is expected to attend the show, even if some of Sherlock's classmates attempt to eat her brain.

With all this time on my hands, I helped Mrs Hudson bake:

Went for a run. Thought about some things, which didn't turn out as badly for me as it usually does. Cleaned the kitchen, waded around in Sherlock's room to make sure  there was nothing growing in there that shouldn't be. And had the following exchange of texts with Anthea:

Me: are you coming to christmas dinner?

A: what's in it for me

Me: the opportunity to wash a lot of dishes after

A: you mean make my minions wash a lot of dishes

Me: thought you said they weren't your minions

A: reconsidering. may need to start life of supervillany, in which case minions necessary 

I think Harrow may be getting to her. 

And lastly, here is a cheetah running very fast...very slowly.

back to the future

Delorean taxi

The linked article says it's not real, sadly - I mean that it doesn't exist as a taxi, not just that it doesn't really take you back in time.

Sherlock's class had auditions for the Christmas show today. Sherlock wants to be an angel with a light up halo. A dancing angel. Possibly breakdancing. Probably not on the head of a pin, but nothing would surprise me. He's also got a violin piece to play at the start of the show, along with two of his classmates, who I believe are playing cello and harp.

On the way home, he said he wants to invite Molly and Sally to come to the show  as well - but only if he gets the part. Heh. I need to ask Mrs N how many guests we're allowed to bring. There are quite a few of us already.

And I need to start Christmas shopping in a very serious way. What are you all getting your mums this year? Any ideas I can steal?

-

I'm not going to continue the poetry indefinitely, but I realised I didn't do any haiku at all. So here's this, by Issa.


In this world
we walk on the roof of hell
gazing at flowers. 

those winter sundays

When I was young, my father had a painting. It was of a very brown forest with some brownish grass, coppery leaves, dusty coloured sky. Generally brown. There was a brown stag in, standing between two trees, and through some mental oddity or lack of visual development, I could not see it. Harry could see it, and had always been able to, even when she was my age. I think I was about three or four then. It's one of my first memories. 

Harry got so angry with me over it. In looking back, I can see she thought I was pretending not to see it, presumably to annoy her, as younger brothers do. At the time, I had no idea why she was shouting. And I remember my father sending her out of the room, showing me right where the stag was, lifting me up so I could touch, but it was no good. Still invisible. He showed me again the next day and I don't even know how many times after that, until one day I could see it. 

I suppose my point is that the holidays always make me think of my family, and I'm trying to be more positive about it this year. Doesn't come naturally, but there you are. 

-

You can also listen to him read it here if you want to.

Those Winter Sundays
Robert Hayden

neither out far nor in deep

I saw Harry for lunch today while L was visiting his mum. She's still sober, and she got a promotion recently, so we were semi-celebrating. Which isn't to say we managed not to piss each other off at all, because we didn't, but even so, it was nice. 

She said she'd like Sherlock to stay with her overnight some time. If he wants to and his mum is all right with it, I think I would be too, at this point. It's funny, thinking about the two of them, Harry wasn't that different from him as a kid. Maybe more socially aware, less sure of herself, but I remember her being absolutely enraged when people (mostly our parents) told her the truth was inappropriate, just the way Sherlock is. I wonder if we might've got along better if she weren't my sister

-

Neither Out Far Nor In Deep
Robert Frost

greg the florist, part i have no idea

Previously on Greg the Florist...

The woman peering out of the window after them seemed to be clutching a wooden cross, holding it out at them, but as he squinted to see more clearly, she moved away into the shadows. He shook his head. It must have been some sort of optical illusion...

la belle dame sans merci

Mycroft rang this evening and told me off for never admitting I was ill and trying to carry on regardless even though I won't let anyone else do that. Probably tells you all you need to know about my day. I honestly don't feel that bad, just tired, scratchy throat, etc. I plan to be better tomorrow, but meanwhile Drs Holmes and Lestrade have made me promise to rest. 

And this still isn't Greg the Florist because I can't find the last bit of it on L's blog and search box won't load. I don't suppose anyone has a link to it? 

-

No laughing at 'her elfin grot', I know you people. 

La Belle Dame Sans Merci
John Keats